The Shack
by bucktooth22
Summary: This is the story of a shack. It has been called many things, hell, the shrieking shack, home... It has a life behind it, one it wants to share. Established RLSB ONESHOT


Name: The Shack

Summary: This is the story of a shack. It has been called many things, hell, the shrieking shack, home... It has a life behind it, one if wants to share. Established RLSB

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, movies book, nothing. Nadda.

The shack was once a home. It was once a place where people lived. A family sat down to eat dinner at this table. They would lay their heads down on this pillow. They were happy once. They're gone now. Everyone's gone now. There are no happy lives in this dark world. The war is raging around us, wizards versus wizards. It's crazy if you think about it. What makes someone bad and someone good? What if you're on the wrong side? I've never really been good with morals. Conscience is something I lack. Sometimes I wonder if I will ever be complete. Then I look into his eyes. I feel his arms about me. I taste his lips on mine. I listen as he whispers to me everything will be alright. I inhale his scent and let it engulf me. He completes me, makes me feel like I'm not a monster. He makes everything survivable and he makes me feel safe. With him holding me the pain doesn't hurt so much. With him my screams of pain don't burn my sensitive ears. With him the moonlight is dull because his face is all the light I need. I sniff the air and prepare myself for the night to come. This shack holds secrets. If you listen it whispers them to you. There are scents of humans lingering from times long past. Times when people would come and go through this house with smiles and laughter. The pictures on the walls were removed so as not to stimulate me. They don't want the monster to get out. They don't want me to hurt people. Why am I so feared among them? Am I really that different? I look at the face of my lover, his black features blur as he bolts to the door. There is someone there. Knocking at the door means humans. My beast howls into the crisp night air. I look at the stars, taking note of the constellations. Big dipper, little dipper, Orion, I list them in my head. I focus on the blackness surrounding the stars, like the fur of my lover, deep like the night sky. There, I note, is Sirius, the star my wolfen counterpart was named for. Sirius, the star surrounded by Black the space. I relate the stars to the shimmer I see in his eyes every time he looks at me. I relate the night to his fur. I notice the clouds, grey and threatening rain, those are his eyes, swirling cosmic grey. I make my way towards the sound of voices coming from the door. I recognize his voice, the voice I so desperately want to hear moaning incoherently and crying my name. I want that voice to howl out in pleasure. I recognize that voice. The other, is one that is newer to my wolf ears. It has only heard their cries once. I nearly bit into its owner, ripped flesh from bone. I nearly turned this one into someone, something like me. Severus Snape. I heard footsteps as my wolf returned. I watch hum with questioning eyes as he shakes his head tiredly. I make a mental note to thank and apologize him for staying up late with me. He changes back to his wolf form and moves over to me. I look down at the much smaller canine. He's waiting for me to dominate, waiting for my primal instincts of reproduction kick in. Werewolves want to make more; they bite on most occasions but sometimes take lovers to make them the "old fashioned way." I internally grimace at the stupidity of the creature inside of me. It took Sirius as a mate, claiming him, marking him, making him mine, for reproduction purposes. Sirius and I will never reproduce because I, Remus John Lupin, am gay.

Yes this shack holds secrets and if you listen close it may tell. It tells of a love between a teenage man and a monster. It tells of a life before the war. It tells of the age a d the pain suffered over years. It tells of a family it once gave shelter to and it tells of a couple that it gave safety to. Yes once a month it would protect the two from the outside world of pain and anger and sadness and it would give them a place to be together. It gave them a place where they could love each other without fear of being judged or ridiculed because that house had a heart ten times greater than most humans. It welcomed all who enter and it mourned the loss of all who left. It tells anyone who listens of its story of a family that died long ago and a couple more in love than most marriages. It whispered to kids who only entered on dares and teens who covered the dirty old walls with spray paint. It whispered its story though no one ever listened to the story. The family that died long before the first was and the teens that fell in love during it. That house survived wars and death. That shack was the only survivor of the stories it tells so it tries to pass them on. It tries to tell the stories to that someone will know. Once someone listens it can crumble but until the story is told it cannot leave. It must stay, swaying like a branch in the wind.

There once was a boy who listened, he was just a kid, and he screamed all night in pain until his body turned into a monster. That monster listened to the stories. The monster was the only one to ever listen to the story the house had to offer so the house, loved once more, decided to stay standing until the boy no longer needed it. The house learned secrets and watched as the boy grew up into a handsome young teenager. The house watched as the monster fell in love with a dog. Together they stayed till the end of their days. The house had to tell the story of the boy that it once loved but no one would listen. The shack yearned to tell the story of the family it once housed but no one understood. The house still stands, waiting for someone to hear the story of love it has to share.


End file.
